


Dearest Harry

by Medie



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Epistolary, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-07
Updated: 2011-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unmasked Dr. Watson writes her brother a letter</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dearest Harry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [speccygeekgrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/gifts).



Dearest Harry--

It is pointless, I know, to address this missive to you, but I believe I must tell someone , elsewise I dare say I might explode and there is no other that I may speak of this with. With our father's death having long since preceded yours and my own reluctance to risk sharing my secret, there is no one else.

Well, there was.

It as we have always feared; I have been discovered. That is to say my ruse is undone. So many years that I have successfully played the role of Dr. John Watson, both in service to the crown and my patients, and it is only now—with my return to London and relative safety—that I am discovered.

It is Sherlock, you see. Sherlock has sussed out the truth of me.

I might have known, indeed I had feared, that this might be the case. He is frightfully talented in the observation of the most minute detail and, in turn, the translation of that to hidden truths. In our short acquaintance thus far, I have had many the occasion to observe that particular talent at work.

Indeed, I came to fear it as much as I marveled over it. I guarded my behaviour more carefully and closely than I had in all the years before. I dared not make the slightest mistake lest I reveal myself. Too aware, was I, that my flat mate's talents might well be my undoing.

It is not so surprising that I was right, but I am stunned with the import of it nonetheless.

Perhaps because it was all for naught. All my care and practice in the great play that has been my life meant nothing to Sherlock's experienced eye.

He has revealed, with some pride, that he has been aware of my ruse almost from the beginning. Perhaps even from the beginning as, recently, he has shown some interest in the preservation of my emotions and, therefore, might wish to permit me some pride as to my skills.

In the light of his latest revelation, it would seem it was a surprisingly subtle attempt on his part to acknowledge my double life. To support it in some way. I am not certain of this, of course, as my fear makes my judgment questionable at best. I believe, however, and that shall be enough for now.

At any rate, he does seem most pleased I have carried it off for so long. He has suggested, albeit obliquely, that he is impressed by my skill at deceiving those around me.

He did so, however, in the midst of demanding the entire story of just how I came to live in this fashion.

I should not have said anything. I should have walked from our rooms and left London. You and I have always been all too aware of what might befall me, were I to be uncovered. I have seen Sherlock show unexpected levels of compassion to those unfortunates who have sought out his services, but still, I could not believe he would show the same to me. To flee would have been the most logical of options. There are those abroad from whom I might seek sanctuary. Those who would not care about my sex.

I did not.

I sat before him in 221B and I explained.

I told him of our childhood abroad and our father's concerns for my safety as a young girl in such primitive circumstances. How, in those early days, I had been coltish in my shape and how easy the ruse had come about.

He nodded along as I explained how far it had gone, that it had eventually permeated nearly every aspect of my life. I have spent far more time living as John than I have 'myself' and, at times, I nearly forget.

His delight in it all is nearly childish in its exuberance. I have not seen him so excited by anything in our acquaintance thus far. I want to believe I am safe with him. I do believe I am.

It would bearable, I think, to share the secret with him if it were him alone. Unfortunately I have not only been discovered by him, but by inspectors Lestrade and Hopkins of Scotland Yard as well.

It was a most public unveiling that I do not care to dwell upon. Rest assured my virtue and dignity remain well intact. It was not nearly so humiliating as all that. Compared to the circumstances Sherlock regularly lands itself, it was all quite courteous really.

If one avoids acknowledgement of the fact that, yes, my very livelihood has been put into peril.

However, there is an option and that is the reason for which I write you now, my dear brother.

You see, Sherlock has proposed marriage. By his reasoning, it will permit us to continue to share rooms--I do not believe Sherlock is so concerned by society's notions of propriety, but Lestrade and company are quite another story entirely. I do not think they would betray me intentionally, but intentions and action do not always align—and leave my professional life untouched. My life in its entirety untouched.

It is Sherlock's belief that once we are married and my feminine nature assured, Lestrade will be content. We would be able to continue my ruse in peace and safety, but I am running ahead of myself.

Allow me the luxury of explaining just how I have arrived at this state.

We had been engaged by Scotland Yard in a case. The subject of said investigation is not particularly material to my discovery, only that it set in motion the events by which we were uncovered.

There was a woman, as there is often a woman in such matters, but this woman was not ordinary by any stretch of the imagination. In her defense, I do not believe Miss Adler intended my revelation. Indeed, I am not entirely certain she was aware—though she clearly suspected something as to my nature that need not be mentioned here—of the truth.

Not that it mattered. In the end, I was revealed and, as you have seen, find myself faced with a choice.

A choice that is no choice at all. I have always been fond of Sherlock. I have never permitted that fondness to grow into what, naturally, a woman would. To do so would be disaster, but now that is not the case. It is a necessity.

Sherlock does not, I believe, expect me to be a wife. Likely, in his eyes, This is a means to an end that will see things remain as they are. That is to say he wishes to keep me at his side, and I wish the same.

In part.

I confess, my darling brother, there is a part of me that might yearn for more. I wonder if, in some way, I permitted my revelation. If, unconsciously, I manipulated events so that Irene's actions would put the truth of my identity before Lestrade.

I have never thought myself so calculating, but I must be to live as I have. It is possible, don't you think, that I might fool even myself?

I have accepted the offer. We will marry come the morning and all will be well. I must tell myself this to stop the quailing within me. I am so very uncertain of it all and, yet, I face it with the faintest suggestion of anticipation.

I do not know what will come of this, Harry, but I find that I do not care. I have followed Sherlock into situations far more deadly.

At least, I assume so.

One would hope that wedded bliss and revolvers are not common bedfellows.

Though, with Sherlock Holmes, one might make an exception.

We shall see, I suppose, dear Harry, we shall see.

Your sister,

J. Watson


End file.
